


Seven Wonders

by Doctor_Benzedrine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Image, F/M, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Party at Overwatch HQ, Post-Recall, Reader is much more than she appears to be, Self-Indulgent Piece, Subtle Hamilton reference, reader is chubby, self conscious reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Benzedrine/pseuds/Doctor_Benzedrine
Summary: You don't feel like you belong among heroes such as Jack Morrison, or Angela Ziegler. You've never been confident in yourself, but you need a job. Luckily, you've taken an open position with Overwatch, a now underground task force. Unfortunately, you're still unsure of yourself, and you assume that the enemy sees you as an easy target because of this lack of confidence. A certain cowboy and mission partner thinks this isn't the case. Maybe he can convince you otherwise and help you learn to love yourself along the way.





	

“Now hold on there, darlin’,” a soft voice begins, his concern clearly evident. The words in your ears are like smooth caramel, flowing together. You feel your heart sink. You’re lost in your thoughts, picturing the cowboy’s face right now, picturing all of the curves and indentions – he must feel pity for you, hearing all of your grunts, groans, and cries. Everyone else is ready here you are trying on clothes. You can’t wear your uniform to a party! This is a celebration of all Overwatch heroes coming together after the disbanding. Winston had invited you – yet here you are, stuck shouting negative comments about yourself. You had hoped no one could hear you, but you were wrong. Evidentially, Jesse McCree is fashionably late, listening in on your explicitives. “Darlin?” He repeats. “You alright in there? The others re’ expecting us y’know.” 

“Uh, I’m not feeling too well, McCree! I think I’m going to skip out tonight. I’ll send Winston some peanut butter and apologize.”

“Like Hell you will!”

“Pardon?” You exclaim, shocked.

“You’re as much a part of this team as anyone. You really want to let em’ down?”

He’s got a point. You let out a sigh as you run fingers through your (h/c) locks. “You’re right, it’s just-“

“Hmm? You rnt’ petty re’ you? M’ sure you look fine, sugar!” There are his stupid pet names again. You giggle. You can’t escape them in missions or anywhere else. It’s true that you, like every other agent, has fallen for that Western drawl. A moment passes and he continues, seeming horribly eager. “Do I need to come in there?” You let out an audible groan, collapsing against your bed.

“No!”

“Well, m’ coming in anyways!” 

You should’ve known. He’s stubborn. You hear a click as he walks in, a smug grin upon his face. Jesse McCree’s cigar is gone, as well as his hat. He’s not in his typical uniform, a warm, red button down shirt accompanied by a black tie and dress hugging him. You feel your cheeks heat up as you admire him. “You aren’t wearing your hat McCree?” You exclaim, sitting up in your bed. “And no cigar? You clean up nicely, cowboy.”

“Thank you very kindly for the compliment. I’d return it, but you’re indecent.” He lets out a laugh, making his way over to your closet, as he finds the dress you were struggling with a few minutes before. He joins you on the bed, handing the dress to you, a smug grin upon his face. You blush, scratching at your neck as you quickly retreat behind a mirror.

“S-sorry!” 

“That’s alright. I don’t mind. It’s quite a view, though m’ sure you’ll look just as good with that dress of yours on.” He’s just saying that. He does feel bad about you! He’s a gentleman. Jesse McCree has to say that! You shake your head as you step into your dress, tugging it upwards. You struggle with the zipper, eventually giving up as you let out a loud sigh. 

“Can I help you darlin’?” 

“You can try,” you respond, clearly defeated.

McCree gently rests a hand upon your hips as he tugs the zipper upwards, reassuringly curling fingers through your hair whenever the dress zips all the way. “There, beautiful.” He offers. 

“Thanks,” you respond, hanging your head. “Let’s go then.” You scratch your neck, thinking about everyone staring at you. 

“Now you’re in a hurry? You’re acting funny.”

“As opposed to?” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “On missions? Really, McCree? Glad to know you think of me as a stiff workaholic.”

“Now you know that’s not what I meant.” McCree grasps a hold of your hand, leading you to your bed. The pair of you sit down, as you look at your feet, shuffling them. The cowboy reaches outwards, softly lifting your head upwards to face him. “Look at me.” 

“Can’t we just go to the party?” You mutter in response, your stomach churning. You feel as though you’re about to cry, starring into those brown orbs of his. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong. I’ve been on god knows how many missions with you, and I know some things about you that you don’t know about yourself.”

“Like what? That’s very perceptive of you, cowboy.” You respond, rolling your eyes.

“You bottle your feelings up, putting everyone else first. I know because I’ve done it myself, and it isn’t healthy.” 

“Feelings aren’t important on the field, McCree. In the words of Aaron Burr, if you talk, you’re gonna get shot.” 

“So I can’t dress up as The Shadow, but you can make a reference to a musical from 64 years ago?” He joins you in laughing, but the mood soon changes. “I love your smile, darlin. It’s nice to see it ever once in a while.” He reaches upwards, removing a loose strand of hair from your face as your cheeks heat up. 

“Well, it’s hard to do for someone who bottles up her feelings.” You respond, in a matter-of-fact tone, intending to mock the cowboy. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing me like this.” He lets out a laugh. “Anywho, you don’t like yourself much do you?” He really is perceptive. You let out a soft gasp, eyes widening. Is it obvious? Can the enemy tell? Does Talon see you as weak because you’re not confident in yourself? Are you an easy target? Suddenly, you become overwhelmed with emotion, tearing up. 

“I- I’m sorry!” You exclaim. 

“Shh, (y/n). What are you apologizing for?” He uses your name. He doesn’t even use your name during missions, preferring the goofy pet names. McCree pulls you into his arms, wiping the teardrops falling from your eyes. This is somewhat of a release for you. The vigilante is right whenever he says that you’re self-conscious, that you bottle your feelings up. You don’t feel important enough to talk to the other agents about your feelings. You don’t feel like you matter. Every time you look at yourself, you seem to cringe. You don’t want anyone to have to deal with you for longer than they have to. You feel your heart-rate pick up as he curls his fingers through your hair once more, his voice soft. “C’mon now. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.”

There it is. You close your eyes, swallowing. “I just – I don’t – I –“ Tears fall from your eyes once more. You can’t help it. “I know I’m worthless, McCree. I know that I don’t belong on this team. Look at me.” You pause. “Really, look at me. I’m pathetic. I couldn’t even put my dress on, because it didn’t fit. Every time I see myself in the mirror, I see someone who is entirely useless. I’m not brave like you, I’m not intelligent like Winston, Mei, Zenyatta, I’m not compassionate like Mercy or Lucio” you groan, “…you get the idea. I don’t want to be at that party, because I don’t belong at that party.” 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. (y/n), y’know we all talk about you behind your back – and no, we aren’t sayin’ anything rude or negative. You have so much to contribute, not just to Overwatch, but to this world. This world needs you in it, to do wonderful things, to change it. You’re so much more than what you put on, darlin.” He pauses. “You are all of the things you listed, and so much more – but most of all,” McCree pauses for a second, trying to regain composure, “You’re beautiful, inside and out. No one has the heart that you do, (y/n), no one has the mind that you do. So what if you’ve got a little weight on you, Talon doesn’t care. I don’t care. It makes you who you are, it’s what makes you beautiful.” You bury your head in his chest, biting your lip. He can’t possibly mean all of this – can he? Is he being truthful? You stop, looking up in those brown eyes of his once more. 

“Y-you really mean it?”

“100 percent.” McCree kisses your forehead, a bright smile upon his face. 

“T-thank you, McCree.” You respond, scratching your neck. 

“Jesse.” He finishes, with a wink. “It’s a party. Now fix that makeup of yours and let’s get going. We’re already fashionably late as it is, and I’m runnin’ out of excuses.” You join him in laughing. Somehow, you feel better. Somehow, he understands. You’re beginning to look forward to this party – maybe even future missions, especially if it means getting to spend time with Jesse McCree, who’s much more than just a cowboy.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've actually made it this far, thank you! I love writing in second person. Thank you for forgiving the various mistakes throughout this piece. If you have any suggestions about what role the reader should play in missions (offense, etc), please comment!


End file.
